


Don't Let Me Go

by SparkStory



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:17:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/849980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkStory/pseuds/SparkStory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis has a day job in London, working at a desk in a boring office building. He takes the subway to and from work everyday and along his travels he meets some interesting strangers. Harry is a budding singer who lives in dingy house with a dozen other music junkies and he has to play on the floor of the tube just to pay rent but he loves it, he wouldn't have it any other way. And Louis loves his spunk and his courage and Harry loves Louis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Let Me Go

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoy my first installment of what i hope to be many. Please leave me feedback here or on my tumblr, liempayn.tumblr.com. Thank you!

It was a boring job that paid the bills, but isn’t that how all jobs are? A job in an office that had a large window over the streets of London where people with much more interesting jobs walked on the streets below. He often found himself standing at the window looking at the passersby as his boss piled fax after fax and spreadsheet after spreadsheet on his already unorganized desk. Sighing he’d sit back down and crack his knuckles and each crack was like a silent plea to stop working and leave. Just go somewhere else where the grass actually was greener and the sky was actually more blue but he couldn’t. He couldn’t just pack up and leave. Because back home there was a mother and four younger sisters that he just had to support no matter how many times his mom would frown and tell him that it wasn’t his responsibility and that she had everything under control. And he just used that to work harder to work longer. Working till his eyes slipped shut and his fingers bled at the cuticles. Working till the cleaner came after the rest of the office had gone home. And as he took his evening train back to his flat his head would knock against the window as the silent train and the rumble of the wheels against the track lulled him to peaceful sleep. Climbing the three flights of stairs up to his flat with uncomfortable shoes and a heavy briefcase he was ready to drop his clothes and fall onto the pillow for the night until he would repeat the process the very next day. And yeah, it was lonely not having anyone to return home to except the mangy housecat he had named Sullivan after finding him in a box in an alley on Sullivan Street, and maybe he was exhausted and the bags under his blue eyes had shown that but he was content. He was content, but he really did not know why.

+++

Waking up the next morning was difficult because his face was plastered into his pillow leaving creasing marks like crayon drawings across his face and he had a certain cat sitting uncomfortably across his bare shoulder blades. Lifting his head to see his small alarm clock, the bright red dashes burned into his eyes as he shrugged the cat off of him and walked to the bathroom. Running his hands under the cold water, because even after living in the same flat for 3 years and repeatedly asking the building super to fix the pipes his water still shot out on freezing water making for quick showers and unpleasant mornings. Getting out of the shower is easy until he has to reach to grab a towel and nearly cracks his skull on the sink as he trips over Sullivan. Dressing in his dreary combination of navy slacks and a light blue button down his nimble fingers spin round and round over a mug of tea as Sullivan walks between his legs. “I’m sorry Sullivan,” he begins without taking his eyes off of his brew, “You know I’d much rather stay here and watch Friends reruns with you, but I can’t.” A crash from the streets below shakes him from his world and he decides that talking to his pet cat might be a sign of him losing his mind. Grabbing his travel mug and checking his hair one last time in the mirror, it looks fantastic as it always does, he slams the door behind him ready to begin another long day at work.

“Oh hello dear,” says his neighbor as she sets down her groceries. “Good morning Mrs. Nesbit. How are you doing today?” Its the same conversation every day, but he doesn’t mind. He rather likes living in a building primarily full of senior citizens. Sure he didn’t have anyone who could come over for a beer and watch footie with, but it was nice not to be in a building that was always having a party. His last apartment was young adult central and as well as there always being a party there was always a threat that he was going to fall victim to a robbery. Yeah, he likes this place much better.

She smiles as her head tilts to the left, a habit Louis had come to notice, “Oh, you know still alive and standing so I can’t complain. Look at the time! I’m afraid I’m keeping you from getting to work. Go on dear have a good day.” He smiles at the woman who had come to be one of his greatest friends since moving to London 5 months ago. “You too ma'am.”

He sets his feet on the concrete outside the city around him is already buzzing with cars and yelling and energy, despite it being barely 8 am. But thats how it always was, and Louis had come to like the hustle and bustle of the city. It was definitely a change from his childhood home in the countryside but it was a pleasant thing.

Walking the 3 blocks to the nearest tube station he pulls out his phone as his fingers flit over the screen. “Oi Tomlinson you fucker,” rasps a voice through the other line followed by a string of groans. “Good morning Niall. How are you?” Louis chuckles idly, knowing how irritated Niall is that he had woken him up. “Could be better... considering its not even 8 and you woke me up!” Watching his way down the steep stairs into the underground he laughs, “Listen buddy I’m getting on the tube but I just wanted to know how you were doing...” Swiping his well used card through the turnstile he says a quick goodbye to Niall and only faintly hears a ‘bastard’ through the other line.

Smiling he walks to his train, the silver line sitting in its designated spot, but not before he scans through the crowds inching to spot the familiar boy with the tattered guitar and curly hair. He hears him before he sees him; which doesn't surprise Louis at all. There he is. Harry. The boy who greets Louis every morning and brightens the rest of his day even though the only words he says is, "Thank you."

Trying to look discreet but ultimately failing Louis makes a beeline for the boy stood up against a column which was like his territory. He stood there every morning and played his guitar and sang his heart out to people who couldn't care less. Sometimes an older couple would stop and smile affectionately at each other before trudging along or a small child would stop until their mother would tug their arm away from the street performer.

But Louis. Well, he just wanted to sit there forever and watch the boy play. He had often contemplated it but contemplation is difficult when there are trains that will leave without you and deadlines screaming in your face.

So to suffice his longing, Louis would pass every day and throw a few dollars in the boys case, which was plastered stickers of bands and places and coincidentally the only reason Louis knew the strangers name. Along the rim of the case was a quick line of Sharpie marker with two words etched in sloppy handwriting, Harry Styles.

See, they had never spoken but Louis had always wished they had.

Today was no different. He walked towards the boy as he sang his heart out to "Here Comes the Sun" by the Beatles. It was a cliche but it was one of Louis favorites. Nodding at him he throws his hand down. "Thanks mate," Harry rumbles only to continue the song. Oh how Louis wished they would actually talk.

Sighing Louis walks left to the train as he jumps over the platform leaving the mysterious boy behind him. And that's how his mornings were usually spent; and everyday occurrence that he loved. Sitting in his normal seat against the window he pulls the daily paper out of his briefcase while balancing his mug of tea between his knees. It was no easy feat. As his eyes skimmed over the paper he just couldn’t concentrate as his mind swam with thoughts of Harry. Like, _why did Harry sing on the floor of the underground? Surely he had to have a better job, or something? He’s such a good singer that he’s gotta have a deal somewhere. Somewhere where people actually care about him..._

Harry gave Louis butterflies in his tummy. But Louis didn’t know why. Well, he kind of knew. Here was this Adonis- like creature how happened to have a dazzling smile and the voice of angels but he had never even had a conversation with the lad. Harry made his heart swell and his brain grow confused.

The train under the city took approximately 34 minutes on a good day, particularly when the freezing ice that was common in England didn’t freeze tracks despite being underground. Which allowed the perfect amount of time for Louis to think about a certain curly headed singer and to detox and prepare himself for the day. The ding sounds and he exits the train minding the gap that seemed to grow everyday.  
Passing by the stands of candies and flowers and newspapers he walks to the exit opting for the stairs instead of the escalator. You’ve got to get exercise some how. The air that filled his nostrils was different than back on the other side of the city. It had a sense of excitement as if there was a new adventure around every street corner. Which he supposed was true but he didn’t have time to go exploring when his boss was expecting him at 9 and it was already 8:47.

His walk from the station was short which was something he was so thankful for. Whenever something was stressing him out at work and the time on the clock hit 5 he was able to dash out of the office and towards the station and forget his troubles behind him relatively quickly.

“Good morning Lou,” says the door attendant Curtis, a kind hearted man who Louis had the pleasure of seeing every morning and evening. “Curtis how are you doing?” Smiling he opens the door letting everyone in the fancy building, “Can’t complain. You?” Walking in behind some business women Louis turns, “Same. Alright you have a good day Curtis.” “And the same to you Louis.”

Louis never understood why and office building had a doorman. It wasn’t like a hotel where it was customary to be waited on hand and foot. He felt that if men and women who were working high jobs weren’t able to open their own door then what were they doing in the first place. It's not like he minded, he didn't mind at all actually. Curtis was a great fellow, he made Louis laugh every morning and he was polite to everyone. If an office were to have a doorman, thought Louis, I'm glad it's Curtis.

The building he worked in was home to hundreds of companies and even more workers. It was a plain building really which lacked creative architecture but had a great view of the entire city. That was one of Louis favorite things about this job in fact. He was able to detox from bitchy associates and looming deadlines even if it were only for a minute.

The company he worked for had an entire floor in the center of the massive complex. He never got a chance to talk with the people from the other floors but there were familiar faces he would pass every day while walking to the lift. Like the man who wore the same suit everyday and sported a thick beard and a bulging midsection. This particular man always had one cellphone in one hand, another in the other and a blue tooth plugged in his ear. There was the woman who had a different hair color every week, and he often wondered how she could be working in a building with such boring and vanilla people. But he liked her hair, it was a little game he had with himself to always try and guess what new color she was trying. This week he guessed purple. He was wrong; it was turquoise.

His work was hard but it was a challenge. And Louis was never one to shake his head at a challenge. Instead he liked to charge straight ahead with horns sharpened and brow furrowed. His mom always described him a headstrong and filled with initiative. And as much as he liked to value that kind compliment he could feel his initiative slip away with every passing hour. His fingers began to cramp and his blood became bile, filling his body with sluggish movements and tired limbs. As the hands on the clock neared six he sighed, a sound filled with joyous relief, as his dreary bones collected his files and papers.

The office was mostly empty, save a few stragglers and his descent to the lobby was silent and peaceful. It was like a refreshing glass of lemonade on a summers day, a good break before he had to board his train back home. The train ride home was always more eventful than the early morning ride. It was usually filled with the business man or woman but always held a couple of shining gems. Just last week a man and a woman boarded the train, dressed to the nines, and they began to do magic tricks for the passengers. He knew it was a ruse but he couldn’t help but be enthralled by the sleight of hand and the exaggerated accents.

Walking across the shining linoleum as smiles at Curtis as he opens the door, “Hey thanks man. Have a good night! Give my best to CIndy,” Louis shouts over his shoulder as he zips up the front of his jacket. “Will do man, see you tomorrow Lou,” Curtis shouts back. And just like that Louis leaves his job behind him, ready for a night of Friends reruns and bottles of red wine.

The walk is short through the city alive with nightlife already even before the sun sets. He found the allure of the city quite overrated, but then maybe he would enjoy it more if he actually went out and partied like a young adult. He’s stopped twice; once by a man who thrusts a packet into his hands about a tour around the city. He crumples it and throws it into the nearest garbage can and the other by a family who had been visiting an seemed to have gotten lost. He didn’t mind when people stopped him; it made him happy that he looked friendly enough for people to approach him on the streets.

Trailing down the cement stairs he boards his train quickly nestling into the window of his signature seat ready to spend the next 30 or so minutes by taking a quick nap. His plans are halted however as soon as the train whistle sounds and the wheels begin to pull the train forward, as his mind clouds with the memory of the curly haired stranger. His mind in fact swims with thoughts of the boy as pictures of him dash back and forth all the while a lingering chant echoes over and over solely one word. Harry..Harry...Harry... Rolling his eyes he leans his head back, knowing that the coming evening would not be as relaxing as he hoped, instead it would be filled with the ever present thoughts of the boy on the floor of the underground.


End file.
